


Bunny in a Bear Trap

by SaltCore



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Hanzo's danger fetish, M/M, Pre-Slash, bad motherfucker mccree, blackwatch bros, hanzo has a thirst, inspired by preacher (you know the scene), meet-cute vigilante edition, stupid sexy cowboy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-09-17 08:27:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16971174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaltCore/pseuds/SaltCore
Summary: Genji's old Blackwatch buddy was supposed to meet them in this seedy bar, but Hanzo's fairly certain he's not going to show.Then a handsome stranger appears and providesexactlythe kind of excitement that presses all Hanzo's buttons.





	Bunny in a Bear Trap

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mirdala](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mirdala/gifts).



> Look, to my mind Jesse Custer and Jesse McCree have some definite similarities, and this scene is too damn good to not pay homage to in fic. I hope I did it justice, Mirdala

Genji’s friend is late.

Hanzo taps the sticky table top with one hand, cradles his chin in the other. The beers Genji bought are sitting untouched between them, condensation pooling into a small puddle. Hanzo had a sip, and that was more than enough. He’s certain it had skunked months ago and suspicious that someone tried to dilute it with piss to cover the skunking.

Genji twists in his seat again, scanning the room. No one has entered the bar since they arrived, and if he keeps doing that he’ll start to draw attention to himself. Well, _more_ attention. The other patrons of the establishment regarded him with open suspicion when he walked in. He looks like an omnic at the moment, all his remaining skin covered in white paneling, and he even wore a brightly colored, baggy jumpsuit that’s fashionable in some omnic circles. The jumpsuit hides  the wakizashi strapped to his back better than human clothes would, and even if these people are harboring some lingering resentment from the Crisis, a civilian omnic attracts less attention overall than extensive cybernetics. 

Genji slumps back in his seat. Hanzo can infer the unhappy twist on his lips from the rest of his body language. Hanzo thinks, not for the first time tonight, that Genji’s friend must not be coming. He’s probably thought better of joining an illegal vigilante organization. Hanzo can hardly blame him.

But if Genji wants to keep waiting then Hanzo will wait.

It’s something of a shame. Genji had been looking forward to seeing this friend of his again. They’d apparently parted ways suddenly, just before the disaster in Geneva, but had been quite close before.

“I’m going to call him,” Genji says, standing abruptly. Hanzo watches him walk out the door, then turns his attention to the shelf behind the bar, scanning the labels. Everything on display here would be well liquor anywhere else. Perhaps it’s just as well. It’s not as if he’d be drinking to do anything but pass the time until Genji’s patience wears out.

A door opening at the back of the room catches his attention, but this time his hyper-vigilance is rewarded with a pleasant distraction instead of a sudden call to arms. The man that walks out has such a captivating swagger that Hanzo almost doesn’t notice the older woman following behind him. Hanzo watches appreciatively at the strain and pull of black denim over well-muscled thighs and can’t help an amused smirk at the gaudy, well-polished belt buckle as his eyes wander further north. A red checkered shirt does nothing to disguise the man’s thickly muscled frame, and a few undone buttons give Hanzo a glimpse of the plush hair lurking underneath.

The man glances around the room, and Hanzo hides his face by lifting his glass of foul beer to his lips. When the man’s gaze passes him by, Hanzo continues looking, eyes trailing over the man on his trek toward the bar, the fruitless wait almost entirely forgotten. His sleeves are rolled up to almost his elbows, and while one forearm is a prosthesis, the other is heavily muscled. He has a thick, slightly wild beard framing a handsome face and a broad-brimmed hat sitting on hair that looks just long enough to tangle fingers through and _tug._ Taken together, he has an aura of rugged lawlessness that’s immediately intriguing.

Hanzo’s mouth is dry. He deeply regrets the quality of the beer.

The man—the _cowboy,_ Hanzo scoffs as he finally notices the boots—takes a place on a stool near the center of the bar. Hanzo can’t stifle a pained exhale at the way his jeans strain around his ass. He leans over the bar, speaking softly to the older woman, and his shirt stretches over his back, making plain the lines of his frame.

Hanzo’s luck usually isn’t so good, but he doesn’t question anything that will make waiting for Genji’s friend more tolerable. He keeps half an eye on the rest of the bar, out of habit, but lets a generous portion of his attention linger on the man. He hopes the cowboy stays precisely where he is for a long while yet.

Three men walk in through the front entrance, all leather and bad tattoos. They’re each wearing vests with matching patches, some biker logo Hanzo doesn’t recognize. The low hum of conversation dies immediately, and loathe as Hanzo is to do it, he gives them his full attention. He sees the bulge of a pistol on each of the men, not to mention at least one knife a piece.

Perhaps one of these is Genji’s friend, though Hanzo doubts it.

“Tessa! Where’s my money?”

The woman behind the bar flinches, then glances at the cowboy. Everyone else here seems to find something else to occupy their attention, uncomfortable watching the extortion play out but too frightened to stop it. 

“That’s no way to be talkin’ to a lady,” the cowboy says without so much as turning.

“Yeah? What’s it to ya?”

One of the men shoves the cowboy, but he plants one foot on the floor so he doesn’t fall. The air in the bar thickens with the threat of an altercation, and Hanzo hates the way it makes his pulse quicken in anticipation.

“Weren’t raised in a barn is all. Now get, ‘fore there’s trouble.”

“Oh? _You’re_ gonna give us trouble? What’re you threatenin’?”

“Well, you’d hear a noise.” The cowboy’s tone is almost conversational, but there’s an unmistakable undercurrent of menace.

“Oh? A noise?” The man turns to turn companions, laughing. “Look here, boys, he thinks he can scare us off with a _noise_.”

“Yeah. Kind of a, oh, bunny in a bear trap sound.” The cowboy sets his hat on the bar and starts to roll his sleeves down over his arms. “You’ll know it when you hear it.” The cowboy continues. “’Cause you’ll be the one who’s makin’ it.”

The cowboy pulls his shirt over his head and tosses it onto the bar beside his hat, and Hanzo feels like it’s directed at him personally. He can only see the cowboy’s back, but oh what a back it is. The tattoos are divine, softened by the body hair, and the thick cords of muscle rippling under his skin speak of real strength.

The leader scoffs and rolls his shoulders, then addresses the bar, “Now y’all look here. I’m about to beat the livin’ shit of this newcomer.”

The biker bullrushes the cowboy, and Hanzo watches muscles jump under the cowboy’s skin as he lifts his arms to guard his torso. He blocks a wild haymaker and then explodes into violence. He employs a ruthless economy of force, no single school or style Hanzo can discern, just a flurry of blows aimed for maximum impact. A chill creeps up Hanzo’s spine, followed by an awful, familiar fascination. Such raw, furious strength put to use with such cunning. Hanzo hasn’t had nearly enough alcohol to explain the way the world seems to narrow as he watches each blow land with vicious intent.

It takes only a few seconds for the cowboy to put the biker on the floor, but Hanzo is enraptured through every instant by the way his body moves and twists. There wasn’t enough of a challenge for him to work up a proper sweat, but Hanzo imagines what he’d have looked like, glistening in the dim amber bar lights. Imagines him sweating in an altogether different context and smiles to himself at the thought.

The biker’s groans disrupt his pleasant thoughts, and then his companions’ enraged howls ground Hanzo again in reality. The cowboy side steps one and throws a left hook that sends the other spinning into the bar then crashing unconscious to the floor. The lead biker staggers back to his feet, and the third biker starts to draw a weapon. Hanzo starts to push away from the table to help, but Genji chooses that moment to reenter the bar.

“You are such an _asshole_ ,” Genji groans before charging forward and grabbing the third man by the collar. Genji slams him into a table, which breaks under the force, and Hanzo relaxes again. The leader flails at the cowboy, and he bats the blows away with a smug little grin.

“You had enough?” the cowboy asks.

“You son of a bitch!”

“Guess not.”

The cowboy knocks him back to the ground, then hauls him up onto his knees by the hair. That tableau gives Hanzo _ideas_ , ideas he hopes to indulge one way or another very soon. The cowboy reaches down and grips the biker’s right arm, and the poor bastard’s eyes bulge as he realizes what’s about to happen.

“You ready for that noise?” the cowboy asks, the smooth rumble of his voice is almost playful and Hanzo bites his tongue to keep himself from interrupting.

The biker whimpers in response, and most of the bar looks away very suddenly. A few, though, seem to watch almost hungrily. For the first time, Hanzo notices the yellowing bruise on the face of the older woman behind the bar.

With a swift motion, the cowboy snaps the bone. Hanzo’s eyes narrow and his lips curl as an agonized, breathless squeal cuts through the air.

A squeal not at all dissimilar to a dying rabbit.

“Now, away with ya. Go on, get!”

The biker scrambles away and out the door, and the cowboy throws his unconscious companion bodily after him. Genji shoves the third man outside as well.

“That’s the last we’ll be seein’ of you, ya hear!” the cowboy shouts through the door. There are faint replies from outside, frightened if Hanzo’s any judge. The cowboy lets the door close, and suddenly the hum of conversation resumes, most people trying very hard to avoid meeting his eyes. He walks back to the bar, and the older woman pours him a generous serving of the best whiskey this bar has to offer. He lifts the glass to his lips, and Hanzo can’t tear his eyes away from the bulge of his Adam’s apple as the liquor slides down his throat. Genji sits down beside him and claps him on the shoulder. The cowboy gives him a grin that can only be described as cheeky.

Surely this isn’t Genji’s friend?

Oh, but he must be, because Genji takes his shirt off the bar and throws it over his own shoulders, dancing away from the cowboy’s attempts to wrangle it back. After a few swipes, the cowboy waves Genji off, apparently resigning himself to shirtlessness for the moment, and dons his hat again.

Hanzo doubts Genji realizes the favor he’s just done for him.

Genji gestures toward Hanzo, and then two more glasses of  whiskey appear. Genji and the cowboy walk toward Hanzo. Genji pulls his mask off, revealing a grin.

Hanzo shoves the intolerable beer aside, leaving room for the whiskey. The cowboy sets the drinks on the table and drops into the booth across from Hanzo, stretching his arms over the seatback.

“Howdy, stranger. The name’s McCree.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> And so Hanzo develops a Problem.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
